


Remember

by royalworldtraveler



Series: Cor Cordium [1]
Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017), Call Me by Your Name - André Aciman
Genre: First Love, Light Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-17
Updated: 2018-03-17
Packaged: 2019-04-03 18:53:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14002419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/royalworldtraveler/pseuds/royalworldtraveler
Summary: “I remember everything,” you said over the phone.As I wipe these hot tears away, I’m thinking that it can’t be true. You can’t remember as I do, you couldn’t have been as changed by that summer as I was. You couldn’t have fallen deeper in love and you couldn’t have cried as hard when it was over.—Elio remembers.





	Remember

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mae428](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mae428/gifts).



I remember the first time you looked me in the eye. Not when you shook my hand and gave me your luggage to take upstairs, to your new room, or when your glance fluttered to mine between deep slumbers, when you were absolutely jetlagged and completely gone from reality.

What I remember as the first time we really looked at each other was the morning after you arrived. Eating breakfast under the sun with my parents between us. I remember the feeling in the pit of my stomach when your eyes landed on mine.

Light, fleeting, teasing—my stomach churned as you looked me straight in the face. I excused the feeling as some process of digestion at the time, but I later realized that this was the first sign of desire. That moment, as my father spoke to my smiling mother. We were in our own little world, you looking from my eyes to my nose to my lips and back. And I doing the same, taking in your strong jaw and soft lips and piercing eyes.

I remember the first time you touched me. We had been exchanging pleasantries, sparring back and forth with friendly small talk across a plaza table. You read my mind, guessing what I would say next. You were quick. I liked having my mind read. New, exciting, promising. It was over far too abruptly. You stood, shoved your papers into your little backpack. I was quick to follow, getting on my own bike.

Perhaps we would ride to my spot, I thought, I could show him where I read. He would like that. _I hope he will. I hope he likes me._

Your hand gripped onto my shoulder before you uttered a sharp “Later!” and pushed off into your own direction. Your hand was warm against my shirt, your touch far too brief for my liking. I was left staring at the muscles of your bare legs as you peddled away.

I remember when you were out, and I was alone in the house, all alone on my bed in the sweltering heat, wearing nothing but cloth bottoms. I thought back on the first time you looked me up at down, and the shock it gave me. The first time you touched me. Your legs peddling you away. When you massaged my back in front of everyone and I jerked away because if I didn’t, I would have melted right into you, and I couldn’t have anyone knowing exactly how I felt. I couldn’t have anyone know that I needed your warm, calloused hands back on my body to do as you pleased.

To do as you pleased. To do with me as you pleased. Please. Use me.

I remember my hand snaking into my bottoms and my eyes slipping shut. Feeling myself as if you were feeling me for the first time. I remember the door opening—that problematic fucking door—and the dread that settled in my chest as I shoved my hand out of my pants and onto a book, flipping to a page in the middle and acting as though I was reading and not thinking about the wet spot on my crotch. Casual.

Looking back now, I know that you knew. How couldn’t you have noticed the way my breath was too quick, my face too flushed? Or the way I bent my legs to hide the problem in my shorts? You must have known.

I remember the first time we kissed. I had finally taken you to my spot. I had finally confessed, if not in the most awkward, awful way possible. I had done it, though, and I felt a million times better. I remember wading through the icy spring water, my feet aching.

“I like the way you say things,” you said. “Don’t know why you’re always putting yourself down, though.”

A beat. Why did I?

“So you won’t? I guess?”

You paused. 

“You’re really that afraid of what I think?”

I was done with this game. I wanted you, and you knew it, but I had to make it even clearer. Rather than answer with words, I stepped impossibly close, looked at you from underneath my lashes, and smiled.

The ball was in your court then, Oliver.

“You’re making things very difficult for me,” you said, but your words were laced with fondness. You were fond of me. Something was bound to happen, I thought. If not now, when?

And it did, I discovered, as you traced my bottom lip with your finger from where we lay on the field, and when I couldn’t help but press back with my tongue. And when we kissed—dear God, when we kissed. Your mouth was warm and wet against mine, the faintest taste of the cigarette from earlier that day on your lips. You were intoxicating. I wanted nothing more than to keep doing what we were doing. Laying in that field by my spot, me rolling onto you, kissing soft and slow and desperate. I wanted for nothing more.

As I sit in front of this fire, Oliver, this is what I remember. I remember love. My first real love, the first time I thirsted for something beyond me. I remember the feeling in my stomach and the fuzz in my brain and your tongue against mine. I remember drowning in the blue of your eyes and crying in your arms and pulling on your hair. I remember calling you by my name, and you calling me by yours.

Oliver, Elio, Oliver, Elio, Oliver, Oliver, Oliver, Oliver.

I remember the rawest connection I’ve ever felt, and the best part of my life.

“I remember everything,” you said over the phone.

As I wipe these hot tears away, I’m thinking that it can’t be true. You can’t remember as I do, you couldn’t have been as changed by that summer as I was. You couldn’t have fallen deeper in love and you couldn’t have cried as hard when it was over.

What we had meant the world to me. You were my world, Oliver.

I think of you always. As someone else holds you, cries in your arms, tastes your lips, and loves you, I can’t help but hope that you think of me.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> The first time I watched Call Me By Your Name, and the first time I read it, I didn’t cry. It was beautiful, but I didn’t cry. 
> 
> I rewatched it yesterday with my amazing friends, and was weeping like a child by the end.
> 
> I’m going through some things, as we all are. It’s times like these when I thank creatives that put things out into the world. You inspire me. Thank you. 
> 
> This story is one of love and loss. I’d like to dedicate this drabble to my friends, for being here for me and letting me cry with them while we all go through the loss of love.
> 
> Also, thank you to mae428 for blessing the world with Come Live With Me and Be My Love. Your spot-on characterization and amazing style inspired me to crank something out as well. I look forward to every update. 
> 
> Sorry for writing a novel in the notes. If you, for whatever reason, would like to hear more from me, my tumblr is royalworldtraveler. Hit me up. 
> 
> Much love,  
> Gaby


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